My mom said I learned how to run before I learned how to walk. Considering my future endeavors, there was truth to that statement.
I never stick to a task for long. As a young girl when I got bored, I threw down my Play-Doh and Slinky, and ran my head into the wall. Sure, it hurt a little, but it amused me. It put my boredom at bay for at least a little while. So I kept doing it until my head turned into one soaring headache.
Then I was on to my next task; running around the house at full speed with a cookie hanging out of my mouth and chocolate all over my face. I thought the more I ran the more acute possibility I’d turn into a superhero and fly out of the suffocating house and into the world of dreams and possibilities.
Too bad I grew up without leaving my myths and hallucinations behind. The last job I worked I ran out of there like someone was chasing me, hoping once again that I’m on to bigger and better things. Even though the last 20 jobs all sucked, and if they didn’t, I still found a way to get the hell out of there. I just couldn’t breathe anymore in the same work environment for long. I was suffocating and feeling the walls close in on me.
I was the same as far as relationships go. I’ve never been in one for longer than a year. Many times they find a way to hightail it out the door faster than a chipmunk on steroids, but many times I’m the one to call it quits. The relationship starts to feel like the end. Like I’m caught in a group of drag queens and a bus is coming straight toward us at full speed. Not sure why this happens. I get to know the person, realize they’re not my soul mate, and every little thing starts to irritate me to no end.
It’s not that I believe in soul mates, necessarily. I believe there are extremely compatible people out there in the world, but I just have not found my penguin. It’s possible I’m too weird for people on earth to comprehend.
Not everything is bouncing into walls for me. On occasion, I do succeed and actually stick with something I’m doing.
There are two things I stuck to in my life, writing and family. Besides the one time in high school when I packed my pink Toyota full of boxes and clothes, ready to move out for good, I’d never wanted to be more than a few miles from my family. Hence, even though I moved to Portland for less than a year, and even though I loved it, I was back with my family, where I feel safe and loved and accepted for who I am.
Writing is something I started doing as soon as I could draw. While the other kids were creating balloons, planets and stars on their white industrial paper, I was trying to form words. It wasn’t working, but hell I was a little kid, I tried. Objects never interested me, only words.
This rang true when as early as second grade I was winning poetry contests in school. I continued on from school newspaper articles to actual newspaper articles. I even stuck out newspaper jobs a lot longer than burning burgers and faxing the wrong documents. It was even something that fit me well, my job soul mate, and gave me solace when nothing else seemed to fit.
I never stopped writing, even when I was sick with writer’s block. I wrote in my journals and dreamed up book ideas. Now I’m working on my second novel and awaiting the release of my first one, already in production at Bella Books.
As you can see I’m a wacky kid with a misplaced energy for life. But I’ve managed to turn into my butterfly counterpart; I’m now a wacky adult with a focused energy for life. There are still some areas I lack and can’t seem to make work, for example, relationships, particularly romantic ones. Not sure if this will ever get resolved, but I have hope.
Someday I’ll find the woman of my dreams, maybe in some fairy tale land, but in the meantime I’ll keep running into walls and bouncing back. Because that’s just what I do.